


Every Once In a Thousand Cycles

by Inkmage (Fallowsthorn)



Series: Polyamorous Work Crew [3]
Category: Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Alien Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Circuit Sex, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:37:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallowsthorn/pseuds/Inkmage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An immediate continuation of Reconnect (part 2).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Once In a Thousand Cycles

It's actually about a fourth of a millicycle before the rest of the Guard get to the sector Tron's in, since they have to take the less treacherous route on their copy/pasted lightcycles. Tron doesn't mind. It gives him time to think, and "talk" with Raysar and the others when they get close enough to connect comfortably.  
  
Communicating like this reminds Tron why he hadn't done it very often, before the coup. It's more raw. The data transfer requires him to puzzle it out, sometimes, and more often than not one of them has to send back the memory of what someone else has said with curiosity attached, their standard way of asking for elaboration. It awes Tron, whenever he thinks about it, that there still  _is_  a standard way. That it's still there, that it hasn't been lost.  
  
Of course, it's also a lot harder to hide or censor what one is feeling, and when Tron gets a feeling of affection from the others he realizes he's been sending fierce loyalty across the link. He blinks for a microcycle, wavering, and then reinforces the feeling. He will not lose his Guard again.  
  
A lot of their conversation is Tron informing the Guard of what had happened during and with Clu's reign, and to Clu himself. At least, he gives them the version Alan_1 and SamFlynn had given him, which is secondhand at best, and might be missing large pieces. It's better than the brief understandings Tron had had of the outside world while being controlled by Rinzler's programming, and it turns out the Guard had had much of the same haze obscuring their own senses.  
  
He tells them of the actual coup last, perched on the rock he's been sitting on and scanning the horizon for the Guard. The links - five of them now, the last one faint with distance - go silent at his retelling. Tron desperately wants to change it, to shy away, to lie, but he won't. Lying to his Guard would be quickly found out, and almost worse than the news that Tron himself was responsible for the deaths of four of their number.  
  
He lets the memory trail away, swallowing and trying to stop the guilt he's feeling from infecting the link.  
  
It doesn't work, of course. Tron can feel Raysar walk up behind him, near-silently thanks to the material the Gridsuits are made of. He senses the Guard's intention as Raysar's hand closes around Tron's upper arm, and Tron turns, sliding off the rock into Raysar's hug.  
  
Tron stops trying to block off the guilt from the Guards and just lets it pour through the link, guilt for derezzing four of his Guards but also for the programs and Isos he'd derezzed, in the Games and on Clu's orders. He buries his head in Raysar's shoulder and breathes in shakily, angry at himself for not being strong. His Guards must have derezzed programs and Isos, too, and none of  _them_  are shaking and unable to move.  
  
Shock filters through the link from all five Guards, and something unidentifiable from Raysar, laced with protective anger at Clu. Tron relaxes, feeling Raysar rubbing his back comfortingly. Autro and Pulse arrive and join the hug as well, surrounding Tron in a cocoon of warmth and... acceptance. That's what he'd felt from Raysar, but couldn't quite place at first. Acceptance of past actions, and the consequences, of and for all of the Guard, not just Tron.  
  
Tron shuts his eyes as Cyrus joins them, reaching out with his mind to embrace the others, shining gratitude at them. It feels odd, and after a moment Tron realizes why.  
  
He hasn't felt like this since Clu took over. In over a thousand cycles, he hasn't once felt at peace.  
  
 _I will never let this go,_  Tron thinks, and doesn't realize he's "said" it until almost all of them chuckle and send him varying pictures, of what their hug must look like to an outsider and a list of memorized information and two hands holding on to each other and a disc coming back to its program and, from Pyro as he joins the group, a memory of them all, even the now-derezzed Guards, working together to destroy a large gridbug swarm.  _We know,_  the pictures say, and the feelings that accompany them.  _Neither will we._  
  
Tron shudders involuntarily, and wonders why he's so surprised.  
  
It's probably significant that Autro figures it out before Tron himself does, and says out loud, "You  _are_  worth it, you idiot." And his resonance gives Tron a picture of purple circuits and a mental image that would make him derezz from embarrassment if it were anyone but the Guard.  _Let us show you._  
  
A circuited hand - Tron isn't sure whose - runs down the circuit line in the center of his back, circling his disc and palming the port. Tron shudders again, this time in pleasure, and moans, half in his head and half out loud. He shuts his eyes all the way from where they're half-lidded, and narrows his world to touch and the resonance of the connection.  
  
At first he's mind-breakingly in six different places at once, but then the rest of the Guard get the same idea and let go of the physical world, entangling themselves in each others' consciousnesses. The pleasure from the writhing mass their hug has become resonates across the links, a bit cautiously at first and then with abandon, spiking when one or more of them slip into the same position. The same pressure Tron had felt when the Guard were just coded builds again, steadily growing stronger but not hurting, exactly.  
  
Tron realizes he's purring throatily and grinds against Raysar, needing the easy contact if nothing else. All six of them are starting to overload ridiculously quickly, and there would be more to that thought except Tron's vision goes white. He/they ride/s the tide of electricity that has nowhere to go, shaking with it until it dissipates into the air.  
  
It feels amazing, and when his/their vision clears, there's a second where he's/they're all one being with six heads and twelve arms and twelve legs, and then his/their mind/s retreat back down the links and they become six programs with separate names and functions again. Then they're all holding on to each other, trying to stay upright. It doesn't work, and they end up sitting rather hastily before they topple over, laughing in the aftermath of that exhilarating rush and sending tired, happy warmth across the links.  
  
Of course it's not the best. But nothing's the best right now, and it won't be for cycles, maybe forever. Tron thinks that maybe this is the closest he can get.  
  
 _We know,_  five programs tell him affectionately.  _Now shut up and standby already, we're tired._

* * *

Later, Sam sees Tron lounging around with the rest of what's become known as the Old Guard, plus a few members of the normal, new Black Guard that are becoming integrated. He's doesn't think it's odd - after all, they've just gotten back from patrolling and nabbing gridbugs, they deserve the rest - except for that none of them are talking. They're all completely silent, and most of them aren't even looking at the others, just the ceiling or the floor or wherever their gazes happen to fall. Occasionally one of the new guys will frown, and look confused, but the expression soon clears up, usually with a smile from one of the Old Guard.

When he walks in on them all having sex later,  _also_  completely silently, he takes the brain bleach rather than the offer of an explanation or an invitation to join.


End file.
